The Most Important Piece
by LilyBolt
Summary: "It's like the final puzzle piece clicked into place, the one that makes the image complete, makes it whole." A oneshot taking place right around 8x13 "Everybody Hates Hitler". No slash. (Happy Supernatural Day everyone!)


**WARNING: Spoilers for 8x13 "Everybody Hates Hitler" onward.**

 **Author's Note: In celebration of today, the 13th of September which is officially Supernatural Day (honoring the fact that "Pilot" aired on 9/13/2005), I have written a simple little story which I hope focuses on one of the main themes of the show. It was inspired by a quote I will share at the end. Enjoy! :)**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.**

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Dean awakens and for a moment he needs to catch his bearings, to remember that he is in the Men of Letters Bunker, in his new bedroom.

He's spent so many years on the road, crashing in motel after crappy motel, and despite the fact that technically his location changed all the time, the rooms were always similar enough overall so as to blend smoothly together after a while. He never woke up unsure of where he was, because he always knew it was just another hole in the wall he was renting at prices low enough to drop your expectations right into a hole in the ground, too.

Today, however, when Dean opens his eyes he sees a room unlike any he has stayed in prior. The walls are plain. No funky art hangs in cheap frames, no bizarre wallpaper or tacky themed décor… Just empty space of a gray-crème tone, not unlike cement that hasn't seen enough sun.

To his left there's a nightstand, old-fashioned in design and still dusty because Dean hasn't bothered to wipe it down yet. To his right stands what might be an A/C unit or a radiator, he hasn't quite figured out which. His bed faces the door to the room, and that throws him off as well because he's used to the entryway being on one side or the other, whichever side Sammy wasn't on.

Maybe the only thing in the room that feels normal to him is the mattress, which is old as dirt and uncomfortable as most of the dumpy messes he's had to sleep on in his lifetime. He wants to change it out for a better one though, now that he can, and the mere thought that it's a possibility sets him off kilter again because since when did he get to think about buying new mattresses?

Standing and shaking off the eerie feeling settling in his gut – the one so foreign to him that he thinks has a name he can't bring himself to use for some reason – Dean heads out of his room, passing by the little sink attached to the wall near the door.

His sink, his door.

He wanders down the hallway, mentally retracing his steps towards the kitchen he'd discovered the night before. The giant, old-school kitchen that looks as though it wouldn't be out of place in an old army barracks or in the house of a 40's manor. It's not the prototypical 'kitchen' the noun itself calls to mind, but it's better than any kitchenette Dean has known and he's known too many.

He finds the doorway he's seeking, makes his way down the single stone step by the entrance until he's inside, eying directly the wood table fastened to the right wall and the little round wooden seats that jut out from beneath it on curved metal arms.

Dean's gaze drifts across the room, taking in next the metal shelves with the dishes stacked neatly, and the pots and pans hung high above the broad metal island in the room's center. There are two old cooking ranges near the back, along with a porcelain white in-wall fridge which Dean suddenly can't wait to stock up with all sorts of groceries, because he can't help seeing how much _bigger_ it is than all those mini fridges he's used up until now.

And there's that feeling again, the one that makes him uneasy like he's on the verge of grabbing some great thing, but it's just out of reach…

Dean wants to reach it, in fact he almost can, but there's something missing and it's absence holds him back from the attainment of that goal.

Then he hears the heavy padding of footsteps down the hallway and a moment later he turns to see his towering, bed-headed, pj-adorned little brother shuffling into the kitchen.

"Morning. We have any coffee?" Sam asks, moving past Dean and heading right to the cupboard in search of a way to brew up some caffeine in one of the old coffee pots the kitchen houses.

It's like the final puzzle piece clicked into place, the one that makes the image complete, makes it whole. All at once Dean is no longer unable to grasp the feeling that's been niggling him since he woke up, and all at once he's brimming with it.

"None that you can drink without puking after. We need to make a grocery run ASAP. This place is full of decades-expired canned goods, that's how old it all is," Dean replies cheerfully.

Sam grimaces, but nods in agreement. "Guess I'll go get ready then," the younger man replies and heads back from whence he came.

Dean watches him go, smiling to himself.

Because he finally feels fully at home.

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 **Secondary Author's Note: Thanks for reading! as promised, here is the (very well known) quote which inspired this story:**

 _ **"Home is where the heart is." - Gaius Plinius Secundas - Pliny the Elder - (AD 23 – August 24, AD 79) Como, Italy**_

 **If you have a moment, please do leave feedback. It's always greatly appreciated. And have a wonderful Supernatural Day! :D  
**


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